The Walker Tracking System
by HanuuEshe
Summary: Sylar had already kill my family once. I wasn't going to let him do it again. Molly-centric, AU after season two.
1. Spying on Sylar

Eight-year-old girls are not supposed to hate people- not really. They aren't supposed to want to kill them, they aren't supposed to have not-quite-nightmares where they aim a gun at the bad guy's head and pull the trigger and the result is an open skull with a missing brain and-

Well, it's not like eight-year-old girls are supposed to watch their parents get murdered in front of them either. All things considered, I'm probably not completely hopeless.

I'm nearly eighteen now, anyway. Age eight is just when it started.

You see, I have a power. It's not a very good power- I can't really protect anyone with it, but still, I could do more than your normal eight-year-old girl. I should have done more- I could have done more. I might not be a cop like Dad, but at least I could be an alarm, and warn the good guys when the bad guys are coming.

This would be my train of thought right after we found out Sylar wasn't dead after all- right after he got his powers back and began terrorizing the world again.

He'd almost killed Appa and me. He did kill Maya, but Appa bought her back. And he'd killed the babysitter too- I couldn't see her, and I don't think we ever did find the body. It scared me how easily he'd been able to walk back into my happy little family, and how easily he'd be able to destroy it just like he did my last one.

I'd already lost one family. I was not going to lose another one.

So I started thinking about him. The Boogeyman. Sylar.

I was really scared at first, because he had powers, maybe like the Nightmare Man did, and on a list of things I never, ever wanted to do again, getting put into a telepathic coma is pretty high up there. But losing my family again had always been all the way at the top, so one night in motel number fifteen of what Dad was calling 'our long overdue family road trip', but was actually a very frantic and not-too-thought-out flight from Sylar, I decided to do something about it. Dad and Appa were busy arguing over our next move, so when I announced that I was going to take a shower, they didn't bother to notice that I had hidden my atlas behind my back. I went into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me and concentrated and-

_-the sky was darker, darker than he'd ever seen before. Hot, moist wind swept through the evergreen trees as he walked towards the small, rundown house. The sound of frying meat was too heavy in his ears and the distant sound of a coyote howling was too loud to be distant, but he knew it was-_

-found him. In Georgia.

Considering we were in the middle of Nowhere, Wisconsin at the time, I figured we were safe, breathed a sigh of relief, and started running the water in the tub.

It got easier after that. Eventually, I came to think about Sylar with the frequency I thought about Dad and Appa, if never with the same fond feelings. I tracked him into the Southwest, down into Mexico, 

then straight up through Middle America into Canada and over to Alaska. From there he caught a flight to Japan and wandered around the Tokyo area before taking a slow ship to San Francisco.

Where we had settled down.

It didn't register at first. I still thought of New York as home, and it almost didn't cross my mind that for the first time in months Sylar would be within a few dozen miles of where my family was. Then I checked on Appa, and noticed that he was less than ten feet away from Sylar's position.

I might have screamed at that point. Okay, I did scream. Loudly and hysterically, because I thought my father was about to be murdered. Dad came running, thinking I was having another nightmare, and it took a long time- much too long a time- before I'd calmed down enough to explain to him what was happening coherently. By that time, Appa was already on his way home, with Sylar following at a discreet distance.

There was some scrambling and cursing and hurried packing and even more hurried explaining when Appa got home, oblivious to Sylar's proximity, but we made a clean getaway and were headed to New Orleans before Sylar entered our apartment.

I left a note for him. A short, succinct Post-It on the back closet wall, where I knew he'd check for someone hiding, and my parents would never think to look.

_I can see you, Mr. Sylar. Leave my family alone._

I think that might have been when I stopped being scared of Sylar. Well, I didn't stop being scared of Sylar completely- because seriously, if you're not afraid of a psychopath who killed your biological parents and was trying his best to finish of the second set and yourself as well, you are that psychopath- but I stopped being petrified by him. He stopped being the Boogeyman, a quasi-solid, invincible monster, and started being Lex Luthor, a smart, but ultimately fallible, defeatable supervillian.

I can do supervillian. I mean, okay, in the world of superheroes, I wasn't even Robin, but I was one mean Bat Signal.

So yes, the Walker Tracking System came back online- well, as online as she could be with a grand total of three people to watch over and an inevitable conversation from the fathers about why, exactly, she was keeping tabs on Sylar, but still…

It was nice to feel like I could do something. And I never wanted that feeling to go away.

* * *

Author's Notes: Before you ask, yes, this story will have slash. But if that sort of thing squicks you out, then I hasten to add that it will be of the sort that is easily overlooked, and almost completely non-sexual in nature. This is because this story is told entirely through the eyes of Molly, who A) is very happy just to know that her parents love each other and nothing else and B) is similarly ignoring the way Sylar has fixated on Mohinder. But beyond Matt/Mohinder and the subliminal Sylar/Mohinder, all of the other pairings touched upon in this story will be het.

But this isn't a romace. Don't get me wrong, there a weddings and people who date and hook up, but they're just events which happen on the perifery to the main story. The main story is all about Molly. And it's all about Sylar. And it's all about how much they want each other dead, and what sort of effect that kind of hatred can have on a kid who's still growing up.

Updates will come every Thursday night. If you can't wait, then I suggest you look me up on LiveJournal- my writing community, deraliaearth, has more recent (but less polished) chapters. Beyond that, enjoy, and if you liked this story, hit the small purple button to your left.


	2. Familial Disclaimer

Let's get one thing straight before I continue: I did not have a crappy childhood.

I mean, it wasn't _idyllic_, but with my biological parents having been murdered, a serial killer stalking us, Appa's Company always trying to manipulate things, emotionally unstable specials showing up on our doorstep wherever we were, and the fact that we couldn't always afford to live in a good part of town, I think we pulled off the whole domestic bliss thing fairly well. Time wise, I'd even say the happy, family-type moments even outnumbered the horrific life-or-death ones.

There were the birthday waffles for Appa that we burned every year, but gradually became less charcoal and more edible as time wore on and I began to master the art of the waffle iron. The teachers and neighbors who gay-bashed just a bit too loudly and suddenly found their houses egged, their secrets revealed, their paper stolen, and their cars reassembled in their bedrooms. How proud Appa and Dad were of me when I earned my black belt in Judo. All the times we had a conversation about pets and ended up confusing Mohinder the father with Mohinder the lizard. The look on Appa's face when I wowed my seventh-grade teacher by writing a book report on Activating Evolution and she called home about it. How happy Dad was after he got his groovy blue-tinted glasses and was able to read. How happy Appa and I were when he started wearing the contacts instead.

There were the amusing-in-hindsight dramas, too. That New Year's Eve at the Petrelli's house where the champagne got mixed up with the sparkling cider, and Simon's power to climb up any surface manifested itself (Both were discovered only after Monica, Monty, Micah and I started to loudly slur the Spiderman theme song as he climbed up the foyer wall). There were my many and unsuccessful attempts to play yenta between my fathers, most of which ended up being documented in photographs Micah holds as blackmail material over me to this day. The semi-war the fathers had over how I fulfilled my need for sci-fi, where Dad bought me comic books in bulk and DVDs of Batman Returns and Teen Titans, and Appa kept pushing Doctor Who and Douglass Adams and Kurt Vonnegut into my hands, and it got to the point where they nearly came to blows over their argument of TARDIS vs. Flux Capacitors.

Okay, that last one was funny for me even when it happened. Because seriously, Arthur Dent owns the universe, and the graphic novel is a perfectly legitimate form of artistic and intellectual expression. My fathers can be so stupid sometimes.

But getting back to the subject at hand, the fact that I survived my childhood is pretty impressive. The fact that I survived it with very few physical scars, and that the psychological ones I have don't impede my day-to-day living, is nothing short of miraculous and a total credit to my parents.

For the fact that this could all go down the toilet, I blame two people: Sylar, and myself.

Sylar, because he's Sylar, obviously. He killed people. He hurt people. He may have started out with a twisted sense of purpose, a semi-logical directive, but he slide into enjoying what he did, taking pleasure in the pain he caused. Myself, because after what I did last week, I'm not too sure I'm all that different from how he was.

I have no excuse- and no idea how I'm going to explain this to everyone, my friends, my parents, anyone, if I can't explain it to myself.


	3. New Orleans

But, before any of that started, I discovered one of my first great loves: New Orleans.

The first time we went there it wasn't much to look at- FEMA still hadn't cleaned up all the mess left over from Hurricane Katrina, and you could tell it would be a while before you could walk around without some reminders of that tragedy, but at the time I could have cared less. Arriving in New Orleans meant a break from the constant verbal and telepathic lectures on the many and varied reasons I SHOULD NOT track Sylar. All of which I dismissed out of hand as a load of utter crock, albeit utter crock that hand its roots in fatherly love and a desire to protect our family.

That didn't change the fact that I felt it was still utter crock, and I treated with all the passive-aggressively contemptuous sarcasm my nine-year-old self could muster.

This did not make for a happy trip.

So, getting back to the topic of hand, I was very happy when we crossed the Louisiana border, and the conversation inevitably turned to "Where do you want to live?" and "How are we going to support the family?" and "Crap! Those diamonds are still in my safe box in San Francisco!" and "I should probably visit Micah while we're here."

That last thing caused silence to descend upon the car. At the time, I was only vaguely aware of what had happened to Niki. I knew Appa was supposed to do something to save her, before Sylar came and, once again, ruined everything. I knew she'd died- I knew there was no body. I knew Micah had stopped emailing me after that, even though I'd still sent him occasional email offering a chance to talk if he wanted to.

He never replied. If Appa was going to see him, I wanted to go with him.

I said as much, and before Appa could say anything, Dad heartily agreed.

Looking back, I think it's safe to say that he was hoping that if I had Micah to fuss over, I wouldn't worry so much about Sylar. Because _that_ would happen.

Actually, as it turned out, Micah was the one to really get the Walker Tracking System back on line. I might have been able to switch her on, but Micah gave me upgrades and a directive to work with.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. There was a lot of stuff that happened before all that: we moved in and Dad took a trip to San Francisco to get the diamonds- I don't think we actually used any of them yet, but they were, as Appa had explained, a sort of insurance policy. No matter how far we had to run, no human society had yet evolved that didn't take diamonds as currency.

I watched him every step of the way. There was one close call with Sylar when Dad was at a rest stop in Nevada and Sylar was less than five miles away, but thankfully, Sylar drove right by before I could even figure out the right number to dial to tell Dad to watch out.

Things went less well on the Micah front. Monica refused to let us in the door after the words "Dr. Mohinder Suresh" left Appa's mouth, threatening to call the police and get a restraining order.

Obviously, Appa wasn't the only one blaming him for Niki's death.

For a while, that was that. I think Appa might have written a letter, but somehow I doubt it ever made its way into Micah's hands.

And then school started. And not only did it turn out that I went to the same school as Micah, but we were in the same grade- and the same class. I sat right next to him that first day, and we pointedly ignored each other until recess, when he cornered me on the playground and began to yell at me about Niki's death.

It got really loud. And ugly. The monitors were already convening on our position when he made the mistake of calling Appa a cowardly murderer, and I punched him in the face.

We were both sent down to the principal's office, where I finished it off my launch a yelling attack of my own, about how life sucks, and at least his life is better than mine, at least he has family he can turn to, at least he didn't lose both his parents at once, and Niki so wasn't murdered at all, let alone by Appa, it wasn't even funny.

That seemed to cheer him up a bit. Nothing distracts a person from the pain of a crappy life better than hearing about how much crappier mine is. And I can still be chipper on demand, so really, how horrible could it have been?

Anyway, after the principal admonished us, and Monica and the Fathers lectured us, and the teacher moved our seats, and the monitors started shadowing us around the playground, and Micah gave me a nice bruise in retaliation for his chipped tooth, we became the best of friends.

I helped him through all the shit that comes with losing your parents, and tried to prevent him from being too much of a geek; he built all sorts of cool electronically doodads that could do things that probably broke the laws of physics- not like pretty much everyone we knew hadn't already shattered them simply by existing.

Things we pretty cool for awhile. Dad got a job as a bodyguard, Appa got a job as a science teacher, and although we weren't exactly what you'd call well off, or even respectably middle class, we got by.

And then three things happened in quick succession:

1) Micah asked me to look for him mother. Just to be sure.

2) A bank in Montana was held up.

3) A Company employee caught up with us.

* * *

Just a friendly reminder that pressing the purple button on the bottom left hand corner of the screen gives you the ability to make me feel special. Thanks for reading!


	4. Fallout Procedures

We had been living in New Orleans for almost a year at that point.

It was May; summer seemed at once too far away and tantalizingly close; humidity clung to the walls of our tiny apartment, blossoming into slimy green mold in the closet, which stubbornly remained no matter what fungicides Appa threw on it, Micah and I had the run of the broken-down playground across the way, Sylar was several hundred miles away, and had been for quite some time.

Needless to say, it was a happy time.

Also needless to say, what follows is the part that shatters it.

I'm not too sure who brought up the subject of powers- or secrets, as Micah still sometimes calls them- but somehow the matter was broached and we ended up talking about his technopathy and my clairvoyancy.

At the time, Micah knew more about his power than I did about mine- what his limits where, what he might develop into. The only thing I was really sure about was that objects were harder to find than people, and when people died I couldn't find them.

Micah sort of fixated on that one- and he wasn't subtle about it either. You see, they hadn't found a body when Niki died, and he'd been hoping against hope that she was still alive, somehow, somewhere.

It wasn't the first time the thought of trying to find Niki crossed my mind, but, when you get right down to it, I really didn't want to. I knew it was selfish, but… it would almost certainly mean simply confirming that she was dead. And dead people… well, when I search out a living person, I get a small series of flashes and a geographical location, which I can now sometimes match with its proper name. When they're special, I can see it through their eyes. For the deceased it's different; I get a sense of either everywhere or nowhere that gives me a weird sort of brain-freeze-like headache, and I get a flash of somewhere very quiet and still. It makes me feel a little like I was just encased in Jell-O fresh from the refrigerator, which isn't exactly a pleasant sensation. Which was why I tried my very best to avoid the topic, and changed the subject when it came up.

Micah wasn't having any of that now, though. No matter what I did, he wouldn't let it go.

"Just leave it alone, Micah!" I snapped finally.

"She's my Mom! I can't do that!" he protested.

I didn't reply, choosing instead to give him the silent treatment and hunch deeper down on the hobby-horse. Splinters dug into my backside, but I didn't move.

"Does looking for dead people…hurt?" Micah asked hesitantly.

"No," I mumbled. And it doesn't, in case you're wondering. At the time, it was just part of a long list of stuff in my life that scared the crap out of me. Right now, it's part of a long list of stuff I've learned to tolerate, like artificial sweetener and migraine-strength headaches.

"The what's the problem?" he huffed. "How would you feel if there was a chance one of your parents was still alive and I could tell you for sure if they were but wouldn't?"

Ouch. Low blow, Micah.

"Alright fine!" I gave in. "Just give me a moment to warm up."

I closed my eyes and concentrated. It didn't take much before I found Appa: he had come home from school and was chopping vegetables in the kitchen for dinner, humming one of the Tamil lullabies I had only recently outgrown. Then I found Dad, a few miles away protecting a minor city official visiting a troubled neighborhood. He could 'see' me, still a fairly new development, and gave me the mental equivalent of a reassuring hug before I left.

Sylar was next in my routine. He had, I noticed with some alarm, moved a significant distance away for the first time in weeks. He was going fast, very fast, but didn't seem to be in a car or anything. He must have found whatever person he was stalking and taken their power, I thought, frowning. If he could move that quickly all on his own, it would make it more difficult to predict where and when he'd move.

"Did you find her?" Micah asked, breaking my concentration.

"No. I haven't even started looking for her yet," I replied.

"What's taking so long?" I asked. I snorted. Boys- even Appa, who, I thought, was an exceptionally cootie-free boy- were incapable of waiting for the results when I was using my powers.

Normally Micah was next in my routine, but because he was very impatiently waiting right in front of me, I decided to skip him. Monica was next; she was chewing out a cashier who had given the incorrect change to an old lady. Seven times in a row, apparently. Damon was playing basketball. Sarah was setting the table for dinner. Aisha was doing math homework. John was (ew!) going to the bathroom.

"Did you find her yet?" Micah asked again.

"No," I huffed. "Let me concentrate."

Niki Sanders. I'd met her in Kirby Square; I'd gotten to know her fairly well while Dad was recuperating from his gunshot wounds. He and D.L. shared a room, and she was there constantly with Micah. She seemed very sad, and more than a little afraid whenever she looked at Micah. She drank her coffee black, and was always I the hospital whenever she-

_-screams rang through her ear and something wet and warm slide over her eyes. She wiped it away viciously and moved towards the man cowering in the corner. He was whimpering, but she ignored it and grabbed him under the armpit and hip and pulled-_

I screamed, fell off the hobby-horse and threw up.

"Molly?" Micah cried. I vomited again. "Molly!"

I started shaking. I was vaguely aware of Micah running in the direction of the apartment, yelling "Dr. Suresh! Dr. Suresh! Something's wrong with Molly!" I almost threw up again, but the fact that I was nearly hyperventilating made that rather difficult.

That was the last thing I knew for a while.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital. Appa and Dad were looming- yes, looming- over my bed looking worried, but once it became apparent that I was more or less alright and the initial diagnoses of a panic attack was correct, those looks rapidly changed to stern.

"This is why we don't want you watching Sylar," Appa explained. "You see what people are doing when you're using your power. And what Sylar is rather infamous for doing is killing people."

"He's a disturbed person, doing disturbing things to other people Molly," Dad added.

"You don't need to see anymore of him than you already have. You-"

"I wasn't watching Sylar," I croaked. "I was looking for Niki. I found her- she's alive and killing people in Montreal."

There was silence. Dad looked over at Appa, was replied, frowning. "Jessica must be back."

"No, it was definitely Micah's mom," I said.

"Micah's mother has a… disability. Because of certain traumatic events in her childhood, she develop two distinct personality instead of one. Jessica is what her alternate self named herself. She's a very violent person," he explained. "We thought we got rid of her before Niki was released but, I suppose, after the fire…"

"She rips people in half," I confirmed. Dad grimaced. Appa frowned. I started. "Is that going to happen to me?"

"What?" Appa asked.

"Am I going to grow another personality?"

"No. No, of course not," Appa assured me. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I've had a lot of childhood trauma…" I started, but stopped when Matt started smiling. "What?"

"Molly," he chuckled. "We'll keep that from happening to you. Promise."

"Will that work?" I asked Appa.

He nodded. "Of course. Jessica only emerged because when Niki was your age she didn't have anyone to protect-"

The lights in the hospital suddenly flickered and died.

"The generators should be on soon," Dad assured us. We waited. The lights didn't turn on.

"How soon should they be on?" Appa asked.

"Sooner than this," Dad replied grimly. "I'm going to see what's going on."

"It's not Sylar," I said. "He's in Texas."

Dad and Appa both gave me looks, but after what I could tell was a quick mental conversation the seemed to agree to wait until whatever ongoing crises had occurred was finished before they started lecturing me again. Dad left the room, and I went through my mental list: Micah was frowning at his now blank computer screen, Monica was rummaging around the kitchen for a flashlight, Damon was drinking something he probably shouldn't be touching for a few more years, Sarah was helping her mother dig the grill out of the garage, Aisha was listening to a portable radio, John was cursing as his iPod died-

"I think the entire city's out," I said.

"Really?" Appa said. "I wonder what-"

His question was answered as a young blonde woman pushed Dad back inside the hospital room, holding a hand pulsating with electric energy behind him like a loaded weapon.

It was Elle, of course. You know someone else who can knock out a city-wide power grid and then threaten a mind-reading cop with lightning? Other than Emperor Palpatine, I mean.

At the time, though, I only vaguely recognized her as the woman who'd fried Sylar before he ran away with the blood and got his powers back. It was a memory I looked upon rather fondly.

"Elle!" Appa exclaimed. "What-"

"The Company wants their tracking system back," she said bluntly.

"No. Absolutely not," Appa said, coming to stand in between me and Elle.

" I think I'm insulted," Elle said. "If I can fry your psycho killer ex-boyfriend, do you really think I can't take you?"

I should probably point out that Elle wouldn't still be talking if we were anyone else. Well, okay she would, because she's just that sort of person, but she would have been saying it to only me as she threw me into the car and left my electrocuted into unconsciousness parents on the floor of the hospital. Which would have _totally_ sucked.

"What's happened?" Appa asked.

"What makes you think something's happened?"

"You were perfectly willing to leave Molly alone when I was still with the Company," Appa exclaimed. He was using the same tone of voice he'd used when talking to Sylar, way back when he'd taken us hostage for the cure to the Shanti virus. That thought made me think of Sylar, and suddenly I got a flash of-

_-the guard smashed against the wall, leaving a smear of blood down the wall. His comrades opened fire but she stopped the bullets with a mere thought. The men scattered as she shot the slugs back at them-_

"Do you know he's attacking your headquarters in Texas?" I asked.

"Huh?" Elle said.

"Sylar. He's attacking your headquarters in Texas," I repeated.

Elle stared at me. Appa stared at me. Dad stared at me. I quashed the urge to giggle, and blushed under all the attention.

"Oh, you're full of it," Elle scoffed eventually. "He was in Montana less than three hours ago."

"Well, he killed someone who could go fast. Really fast," I explained. "And then he took his power. And now hie' killing a whole bunch of people in that place where Mr. Petrelli was shot last year."

"How deep were they?" Elle demanded.

"What do you mean-" Appa started, but Elle cut him off.

"Tell me!" she screeched, the ball of energy in her hand flaring up brightly. At the same time, Dad's voice sounded in my head: Don't you dare look again Molly!

I really hate it when he does that.

"Deep enough that he was killing a whole load of guards," I answered, glaring pointedly at Dad, who had the grace to look slightly guilty.

"Oh man," Elle whined. "I hate protection duty!"

"Say what?" Appa asked. But Elle was already lowering her arm and dashing to the end of my bed.

"Okay, she's stable, that means were moving," she snapped, striding out the door. The fathers stared at her. She popped her head back in.

"What, did the two of you wake up stupid this morning? Grab the kid and let's go!" she ordered.

"Not before you give us some answers," Dad demanded.

Ella shot a bolt of lightning at the foot of my bed, which promptly caught on fire. Appa gave a surprised shout, and swept me into his arms.

"Now, will you come with me?" she said, sarcastically.

We followed her out into the parking lot, where I reminded Appa that I was capable of walking and had been for some time. He put me down but didn't let go of my hand; Dad grabbed the other hand and the three of us piled like that into the back seat of Elle's SUV.

~*~

Wow, I forgot to update that, didn't I? Don't worry, with classes winding down, I'll be sure to update on a more regular basis. Of course, some reviews would help me remember... :D


	5. Hard Truths

I always kind of admired Elle.

Actually, no, that's not really the case. I admire her now, present tense. When I was younger, past tense, I worshipped her.

Nope, that's not a strong enough sentiment either. As a kid, I, in all seriousness, wanted to be Elle.

It all started that day in the car, as we were driving away from the hospital, ignoring the chaos the had resulted from the blackout. She was driving, and had been for about ten minutes before she slammed the breaks in an attempt not to crash into a Hummer. This seemed to jolt my fathers out of themselves, and they as one they both rounded on her.

"What happen-"

"Why did you need-"

"What gives you the right-"

"How could you possibly-"

For an answer to all the above Elle threw a paper at Appa. "Sorry its not the Times, but I actually just picked it up for the comics," she said sarcastically.

I had a quick glimpse of the cover- a collage of pictures of people with their heads cut open and brains missing, people stuck to the wall with pens and staplers, people crying hysterically, and one lone man, Sylar, talking with the police, his hand in flames- before Appa opened the paper, purposefully turning towards the window so I wouldn't see.

"He's in the open now," I said softly. "Even when he was bringing us to Appa's lab, he was afraid of being noticed by ordinary people. Now he doesn't care."

"Yeah. I kind of figured that when he released his evil monologue," she snarked.

"He wrote a _monologue_?" I asked.

"What? Did I stutter?"

"Well, what did it say?" I asked impatiently.

**Molly…** Dad warned inside my head. I ignored him. "Well?"

"Something about biological imperatives and survival of the fittest and the basis of evolution consists of weeding out the competitors. Plus a whole lot of blah blah blah I am invincible yadda yadda yadda all your base are belong to us," she mocked, flipping the bird at the driver of a sedan who had cut us off. "Actually, if you cut out that last part, he sounded a lot like you, Doc. Only without the accent."

"I'm not surprised," Appa muttered darkly. "He seems to have based his entire ideology on a twisted version of my father's work."

Dad gave him a pointed look, and he fell silent.

"Can I see?" I asked.

"No," both my fathers answered as one.

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No!"

"Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top?"

**Leave it alone Molly**, Dad ordered telepathically. I sulked. Elle shot me a glance in the rearview mirror.

"If you thought the monologue thing was clichéd, wait till you here this; he killed those people while robbing a bank," she informed us, almost gleefully. "He stole several thousand dollars in cash and jewelry. He also killed four people- specials- and took a kid – also a special- hostage after he left."

"He didn't kill the kid?" I asked, frowning. Since when did he have a problem killing kids?

"Not for the cameras," she said.

"He couldn't have done this alone," Appa muttered, frowning at the paper. "It says he was working with accomplices…"

Dad's frown deepened, and he reached behind me to give Appa a slight tap on the top of the head, indicating me when he turned around to glare at him indignantly.

"That's right. You know one of them: Adam Monroe, the functionally immortal founder of the Company, and two others- an unknown woman Daddy thinks is Japanese, and a man named Fred Curtis we thought had died about a year ago," Elle continued.

Appa's head snapped up. "Adam Monroe? The man who tried to release the Shanti virus last-"

Dad shot him a warning look, and Appa closed his mouth. He then turned to Elle and said **"We'll discuss this later."**

"Fine, fine, we'll talk about it later. You're such a wet blanket Parkman, I don't know how Molly puts up with you," she huffed, oblivious to the fact that he had just completely nulled her free will.

"Sometimes, neither do I," I muttered, glaring at Dad, who blushed slightly.

**It's for your own good, Molly. It's not going to kill you to be a kid for a little while longer**, he explained.

**It might**, I thought back.

**But it won't,** he promised. **Try not to think about it too much, okay?**

I rolled my eyes. That right there, is probably what made me like Elle in the first place. Don't get me wrong, I loved my Dad- I love my Dad- but his having been on the receiving end of his little Jedi Mind Trick a few hundred too many times I can tell you that it can feel annoying to downright frightening to discover you're doing something that wasn't actually your idea and that you never actually agreed to. With Elle, yeah, you end up doing a lot of stuff you never wanted to do, but she's always honest about how she'll have fun either forcing you to break into an abandoned warehouse or shocking you in unconsciousness. You know what you're in for, and it was that sort of honest insanity that made me love her. With Dad… well, I ate my cereal for breakfast for seven years straight before I realized that I was still following an order he gave me back when I was eight.

If you know what the threat is, you can find some way to fight it. And I've always been good at finding things, so…

But, it wasn't just that she was blunted, and acted like she didn't give a damn (and it was at least partially an act, because I know she cared a lot about what I thought of her), it was that she could face the consequences of doing something like that. Me? I'd rather just wait for people to figure out what I think of them and then have them act huffy, rather than saying something like "No, Ethan, I don't like you, because you smell like a gym locker, your face looks like a pizza and you keep talking to my breasts!" and then get punched in the face because on top off all that, he had no self-control.

Not that that happened, or anything. Ahem.

But, really, sometimes I think my life would be better if I were more like Elle.

Take the first day school problem. Every time you go to a new school, the teacher asks you to say something about yourself. If I were more like Elle, I probably would have said something like "My parents were murdered when I was eight and now I live with my two fathers. Anyone here got a problem with that?" and then flounced off to my seat while everyone was still dumbfounded.

In reality, I normally just muttered something about being vegetarian and practicing Judo, than slinked into the nearest empty seat as quick as I could. Unless Elle had dropped me off at school, in which case I probably would be late and listing off the reasons why Elle should not be impersonating a high school student, and no, it wouldn't be fun to charge up the urinals in the boys' bathroom, because it would be next to impossible to get into the boys' bathroom long enough to deliver the charge, let alone watch.

God, I'm going to miss Elle. I _do_ miss Elle, but it hasn't really sunk in yet. Not with all that's happened, all I've done. I haven't even really added her name to the list yet, the list that begins with Brian Davis- telekinesis and ends with Joanna Dawson- elasticity.

But enough about that. Eight years ago, Elle was alive, driving that SUV out of New Orleans, and I was thinking intently about what Sylar could be planning.

I knew the Mr. Petrelli had been shot outside Company Headquarters, and I knew the Company's job was to find and study people like Dad and I. I knew they had a list, probably like the one Appa kept in the password protected part of his laptop.

"Turn around," I said suddenly.

"What?" Elle asked.

"Turn around," I repeated. "Sylar's inside the Company. They know where Monica and Micah are. He'll find them! We have to go back!"


	6. At The Start Of It All

Question: How do you fit a grandmother, a muscle mimicking fast-food manager, a nine year old technopath, a ten year old clairvoyant, a telepathic cop, an Indian geneticist, a teenaged deadbeat, a psychotic electromagnetic woman, a lizard, all their varied and copious necessary personal belongings and enough food for a multi-day road trip extravaganza into one SUV?

Answer: You don't. Your father takes one look the logistical nightmare that is the above scenario and uses his powers to convince the man at the nearest RV store that by entering his lot we'd won the biggest RV in the place- free of charge.

You can probably guess how our trip went from here on in. Micah and I were 'way too loud and hyperactive; go watch too many cartoons like normal children!' Elle discovered my father's mind control power and every time he tried using it on her, she used hers to blow out the microwave or the oven or the TV or the radio or set fire to the tires or whatever else caught her fancy. Dad and Appa argued constantly about what directions to take and where to go until Monica broke it up, Damon complained loudly about the lack of stuff to do until Micah showed him how to get past pretty much any website's firewall, at which point he more or less hogged the laptop until we arrived back in New York.

In fact, only three things of any consequence happened during that trip.

1) I held up our leaving so I could leave another note for Sylar:

_I'm still watching you; stay away from my family._

2) I told Micah about his mother. He took it fairly well; he'd known about Jessica before, and was confident that it wouldn't be long before his mother's natural personality resurfaced. I should point out now that Micah is an incurable optimist, who still believes in sunshine on cloudy days and that happy endings are possible.

3) Micah and me came up with an idea. The Idea. Capital letters and everything. You might want to underline that a few more times, and possibly turn it into a flashing neon sign.

You see, in case it's escaped your notice, Micah is a genius. A bona fide 'I have an IQ higher than God's' genius. Combine this with his technopathy, and you can see how he could accomplish pretty much anything he wanted.

Or, perhaps more accurately, anything that I could talk him into.

Looking back now, I suppose it's impossible to say if it was more my idea or his. I do know that we were talking about our powers. I also knew we were talking about the new Justice League movie, about heroes teaming up, and being able to do things by combining different powers together.

So, here's another question for you: What do you get when you cross a technopathic wunderkind with the one and only Walker Tracking System?

At first, the answers were silly. After all, the basic premise was rather like a particularly screwed up knock-knock joke. But, as I said before, Micah's a genius, and I'm not exactly a slouch in the brain department either. And we'd both been through more crap than any person should have to go through. Ever.

So the answers quickly became more serious. Weapons guidance systems, sentient spy ware, seeker drones like the ones in Star Wars… the possibilities became darker and darker as the night wore on.

And then they stopped being about was we could be manipulated into destroying the world, and more about how we could team up to save it. _That_ was most definitely Micah's fault- he does the hopeful bit, I do the cynical bit.

And between to two of us, we can do a mean pragmatic.

At first, it was simply more benign variations of the above. I mentioned the fact that I sometimes thought of myself as the Bat Signal, which caused Micah the dissolve into peals of laughter, until I told him about my bedtime routine. Which, as you know, consisted of thinking about my family, Sylar, Micah's family, our friends, and, most recently, Elle, Adam, and Fred. I'd tried thinking about the Japanese woman, but I didn't know enough about her to get a lock.

"And you go through that big long list every night?" Micah asked, impressed.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but actually really flattered.

"How much do you need to know about a person to find them?" he asked.

"Well, at first, everyone thought I could just find a person if I had a picture of them. But I need to know about their personalities, their characters, more than what they look like," I explained.

"Could you find someone you knew by character, but didn't know what they looked like?" Micah asked, intrigued.

"I…dunno. I don't think so," I said. "I've never tried."

There was a pause, during which Micah looked as pensive as it was possible for him to look.

"What?" I asked.

And that when it happened. The Idea.

We hammered out the details. We stole back the laptop. We ate every single piece of chocolate we could find, and giggled like maniacs while setting it up. It was quite possibly one of the most fun things I've ever done in my entire life.

In the end, though, we created it; the blog that would one day save the world.

Or, you know, at least help us lay the groundwork for the organization that is currently trying to save the world. We're not there yet.

Although, that's one of the few things that's good about this whole mess. With Sylar dead, we've scored a fairly nice victory, even if it is mostly for moral, rather than an actual military victory.

And we have Niki back. Micah has his mom again- she can watch him graduate college, get married, have kids.

But as for me? I'm not sure they'll be a happy ending.


	7. Blog Like It's The End of the World

The blog worked something like this:

1) Micah and I would find some specials. This was rather easier than it seemed, because we were traveling all over the country, meeting all sorts of people, and the special kids kind of stood out to us.

2) Those kids created user accounts for our blog. Most of them even posted regularly.

3) They then went out to find other special people (oftentimes they were relatives) who created user accounts, who then found other special people…

It's called the cascade effect. Pretty cool, eh?

I mean, yeah, it wasn't the most secure of systems, but then again, I was ten at the time. The paranoia hadn't really kicked in yet. Besides, The Network, as it quickly became known as, existed mostly as an early warning system for Sylar-related attacks (thankfully, none of them happened during those first few years), a social network, and a support group for kids like me who didn't like discussing their powers with their parents. Or, as more and more adults joined in, wives who couldn't discuss it with their husbands, fathers who weren't sure what to tell their grown sons.

During those days, at least. Things have been a bit different lately.

We had a policy at the Walkmanesh house back then, you see. No powers, genetics, or collars in the house. Dad did his best to reign in his raging mind control impulses, didn't talk all that much about his job as a detective, and never, ever mentioned any missing persons cases he may or may not be working on, lest he or I be tempted into using my powers to find them. Appa never discussed the differences between DNA and RNA unless I needed help with my biology homework, nor did he ever mention anything remotely related to the science of virology. I just didn't talk about my powers, whether I was using them or not, whether I wanted to use them or not. The Big Scary Real World did not need to intrude upon ours.

Of course, it didn't always work. Appa would get really excited about something and just babble about it nonstop until Dad broke his rules and telepathically ordered him to shut up (in later years, this was normally followed by him having to move back onto the couch. Shortly after that, nothing could get Appa to stop). Every now and again, Dad would drag himself home looking exhausted and refusing to talk to anyone about his day- it didn't take me long to figure out that at these time he likely had a missing persons case, and I would wait until he went to bed before opening his briefcase, finding the file, and phoning in an anonymous tip about the person's whereabouts. And, technically speaking, I was supposed to talk with my fathers about my powers evolving- but I didn't, all that much. It's kind of difficult to explain to your Appa that you were focusing on the place where Sylar and Adam were meeting, and suddenly you had astral projected yourself into the room, and then snapped back into your body only when Sylar walked right through you and you were so scared you almost peed in your pants. Instead, you have to wait a few days for your heartbeat to get back down to normal, then tell him that you were trying to find the new apartment and you astral projected into it…

Yeah, I know. I'm a total asshole for lying to my parents.

Although, to be fair, at first it was simply not mentioning (or even letting myself think too much about it in Dad's presence) The Network and what I did in it, rather than outright lying about it. It was only later, two or three years down the road, after we'd actively started trying to save the world, that I actually started telling untruths to them. What Micah and I were doing in my room, what Elle and I were doing in my room, what Farid and I were doing in my room, why I was up so late, who was that Asian guy who was looking for me earlier…they didn't need to know, I had told myself. They don't want to know.

And then they found out after that big huge mess in Jamaica, and, naturally, it turned out they did want to know what their only daughter was up to.

They kinda exploded after that. A lot. Repeatedly.

And sometimes, telepathically in the middle of American History.

And also telepathically during dinner when Appa was already ranting externally. You think you have it bad when your parents finish each other's sentences while yelling at you? Wait until you have two separate telling-offs going on at the same time, one in your head, one waking up the neighbors. And they still managed to finish each other's sentences!

If I could get the Haitian to erase one week of my memory, that one would be out of here so fast he'd get a nose bleed.

I mean, really! Yes, Sylar _did_ technically kill me, but Claire brought me back before he could take my power, and I didn't even scar so, no harm no foul, right? There were people who were a lot less fortunate that night.

Obviously, that argument didn't really go over well. At all. Especially because their problem had more to do with the fact that I'd been lying to them for four years than anything else.

So, back at the ranch, we weren't really normal, I guess, as much as trying to keep up the pretense of being normal. It was especially important in the months following the trip in the RV, when the rest of the world went completely batshit.

Sylar's monologue had actually been less of a monologue and more of a manifesto. Or a Declaration of War.

"_It's simply nature. Evolution. The eradication of one species so that another can take its place. I'm not all that concerned with the humans. You will, in all likelihood, destroy yourselves without any help from me or mine. But those of you with powers… you will either use them with us, or I will take them from you and use them myself. Needless to say, I'd prefer the second option…" _

Naturally 'the humans' didn't take this too kindly. Neither did most of 'those of us with powers', but it took a long time before we could actually work together in any meaningful way. We still can't, at times, but back then it was impossible. Or at least, that's the impression I got from the fruits of all of Simon's 'fly on the wall' imitations.

You can see why we felt the need to be normal. Even if we weren't. Especially if we could sense that we would be right in the thick of what was to come. Any semblance of normalcy was a comfort- even if it was a lie.

These days, it doesn't matter much. After they found out about The Network, after they came to terms with the fact that they couldn't get rid of it, couldn't get me out of it, things became…well, I won't say easier, because it most certainly was not, but it was more honest. Open. Dad bragged about the murderers he put away, Appa shared his frustration with his lab work, and I could come home and say something like 'I had to shoot someone today', and not have to make up some bullshit about a robbery or something.

And yes, I know I'm turning into the next Linderman. The next Kensei.

The next Sylar, even, since I've recently found out that my dark side self is less with the manipulating power mongering and more with the gratuitous bloody violence.

I'm doing my best to avoid it, and I like to think I'm succeeding. I don't think I'm more important than anyone else I see; I don't have any delusions of grandeur, think that I'm a Goddess or anything stupid like that. And once this war thing is over, The Network will go back to its original function, of being a place for people with special abilities and their friends and family to talk about their problems and help each other reach their full potential, and when the next threat rises, we'll just have to deal with it then- and only then. Nothing preemptive- ever. No 'bag and tag' missions, no surveillance.

Secrecy and manipulation got us into this mess. I ignored that, and created an even bigger mess before I realized, they aren't going to get us out. It took me much longer than it should have to come to terms with that, but I have and now…

I've kinda blown it all to hell. Hence my hiding in this motel in New Orleans, ignoring the fact that Noah Bennet is currently trying to break down the front door.


	8. Those Lazy Golden Years

But, getting back to the topic at hand…The RV only lasted about a month.

Or, more accurately I suppose, it took the miraculously long time of a month for the tatters of Elle's self-control to degenerate to the point where one night, doomsday orders to protect untrained specials in the case of an invasion or not, she actually caused the RV to explode.

Thankfully, by then we were all back in New York and sort of squatting in the Petrelli mansion (and yes, that disastrous New Year's Eve party was just around the corner at this point), but, still, it was random and destructive and more than a little frightening.

That would be the end of our gypsy phase right there. It was decided that Micah and family would stay close to ours, and that we would stay somewhere close enough to the city so that the three of us could hold steady jobs and schools, but we could move around home-wise if Sylar or his group of evolved human killing/kidnapping cohorts caught up with us. Dad used his powers to help convince the NYPD that he had actually been on extended leave, and Appa found a job working as a biology teaching for a community college on Long Island, interspaced with periodic lecture tours I later learned were covers for the semi-volunteer work he did for the Company. I went back to school. Angela Petrelli took one look at the wreck Elle had made of the RV and sent her back to the Company to help mop up the mess Adam's gang was making of the place.

I'm not sure what the two of them thought of each other. The two of them are just so Alpha Female, I can't imagine they got along very well. I suppose that's why Elle started crashing at our place when she came home from missions, and, eventually, stopped leaving. She eventually became sort of a surrogate big sister to me and a sort of half-feral cat to leave out scraps for to my fathers.

I'm not too sure what she thought of us, only that she had stopped threatening Dad with her ball-o-lightning routine shortly before she died. I guess that means she liked us.

Or maybe that was just because the fighting had gotten kind of intense, and she was just too exhausted to bother.

Oh, they- Adam, Sylar and the rest- weren't making a big a mess as they could have, I suppose. The planet is still here, after all; there was no world-wide plague, or major bloody Armageddon-like civil war. It's just every few months another group of people with abilities would find themselves herded into some rural, isolated location, and either slaughtered or kidnapped. Or, at least, that's all that was reported in the papers. Sylar's normal stream of serial killings didn't stop either. I know- Micah helped me get past the block my parents put on the computer.

That's when I started compiling the list, by the way. Although, back then it didn't start with Brian Davis-telekinesis; it started with James Walker- mimicry and Eve Walker- his wife.

But, strangely enough, this time period is the part of my life I classify as my golden years- the time period after my parents had died, but before I became obsessed with Sylar. Life was routine. Except for a close brush on Dad's part with a perfectly mundane wannabe cop-killer, I don't think our lives were even threatened all that much.

And as for The Network? It was a bit like those weird LiveJournal communities where everyone thinks they're a vampire or something. Strange if you were an outsider, like coming home for everyone else. We argued over names for powers…

_**WalkerGPS99**__: I'm telling you, it's pyrokinesis! _

_**Gorgon1153**__: It's my power, if I want to call it firebending I will! _

_**WalkerGPS99**__: But the real scientific name is pyrokinesis!!!! _

_**MicahMouse**__: Why don't we compromise? The power is pyrokinesis, the user is a firebender._

And names for people in general.

_**Aloha_means_goodbye**__: So, what do you call someone who can make dormant volcanoes explode? _

_**WalkerGPS99**__: Well, the science of studying volcanoes is vulcanology, so I guess that makes you a Vulcan. _

_**MicahMouse**__: You're Spok! _

_**WalkerGPS99**__: Oh my God, YES!!!_

There was a happy reunion or two.

_**AVMann08**__: I'm actually not special, I'm just looking for someone who is. _

_**MonAmi**__: Not an escort service. _

_**WalkerGPS99**__: …I'm going to pretend I have no idea what you're talking about. _

_**AVMann08**__: God, no! _

_**WalkerGPS99**__: Eleven here! _

_**MicahMouse:**__ PG guys, keep it PG. _

_**MonAmi**__: Americans. _

_**AVMann08**__: I'm looking for a friend of mine. _

_**AVMann08**__: Her name's Claire, and she's indestructible. She can regenerate. _

_**CallMe_BeepMe**__: Zach?_

And several thousand arguments I'd rather skip over, because they were all petty. And long. I mean, once Micah and I had a fourteen-page, five hour long argument about whether or not eating Play-Dough was weird. And then didn't talk for each other for days.

It totally isn't by the way. I mean, really, get some perspective.

But, my point is, life was stable during this time period. And domestic. Or at least it seemed that way to me. I don't think I was the only one hiding things from my family.

We did _seem_ pretty normal though.

I mean, we went through all the normal family stuff. We made plans for the future- normal plans. Dad was slowly but surely working his way through the ranks and departments of the NYPD. Appa became a professor at a SUNY school, then NYU. I discovered CSI and announced one night that when I grew up, I wanted to be a forensic psychologist- a career choice that made both of my parents grin like the loveable maniacs they are.

And my parents fell in love. Finally.

Although, I have to say, I'm still a little miffed that they didn't tell me, and I only found out because Elle walked in on them making out in front of a pile of dirty dishes and squealed so loudly she woke me up.

But still, it felt like we were actually normal. Like maybe, if someone were to make a television show of our lives, we'd be a sitcom rather than a scifi drama.

It all came to an end the winter before I turned thirteen, when Sylar found my family again.


	9. Confronting Sylar

We knew he was in town, of course. How could we not? I knew the minute he stepped within city limits, and told my parents straight off. They called Monica and Angela while I sent an email to Elle and posted a bulletin on The Network, and then we all sort of went into standby mode.

We hunkered down in our apartment for a week, calling in sick to school and work and waiting for Sylar to leave. He didn't- far from it. Adam and Fred and the Japanese woman and all the other villains we'd gotten to know from afar showed up in New York instead, and hunkered down in a Fifth Avenue _penthouse_ of all things. They seemed to be here for the long haul. That kind of made my brain get stuck on a continual loop of frantic cursing, which was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"We can't keep hiding like this," Dad said. "Chances are they're trying to take down the Company headquarters here, and aren't even going to bother with the little fish like us. We'll be careful, but we have to try to get back to normal."

So, the next day, we did. Appa went back to NYU, Dad went to back to the NYPD, and I went back to school, each of us carrying fully charged cell phones and nervous hearts.

Which is how I found myself hiding the girl's bathroom in the English wing, frantically dialing my home number.

Appa was back at the apartment, you see. He'd forgotten his lunch, apparently, or maybe he had always planned on eating at home. And Sylar was almost literally right outside his front door.

"C'mon, c'mon…" I muttered under my breath. My voice echoed softly off of the bathroom tiles. Appa picked up his phone.

"Appa, you need to stay in the apartment," I said, the minute he picked up the phone.

"Molly?" he asked.

"Sylar's in the lobby right now," I told him. I heard a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. "Is the door locked?"

"Yes. And I'll bolt it now," he said. "Don't come home until it's safe."

"I won't as long as you don't leave," I told him.

"Don't worry, there is absolutely no chance of that," he assured me. "Love you."

"Love you too, Appa."

He hung up. I hung up. I went back to class.

Ten minutes later, I was telling my teacher that I really didn't feel good and needed to go to the nurse. Five minutes after that, I was running down the New York City streets, heading for the apartment.

In hindsight, it seems inevitable. Of course Appa would warn Dad away from the apartment. And of course Dad would ignore that warning and rush straight there. And of course he would ignore me when I realized what he was doing and asked him to stay away.

The last part I didn't have to figure out of my own; Sylar was looking for people with abilities. He wasn't after Appa so much as he was after Dad.

And me, probably. But, as I was twelve and broke, so there was no way I could arrive back home before Dad did (and ran into Sylar). Fortunately, I knew Sylar was alone in this one. His coworkers were all holed up in their comfy penthouse- if he wanted to kill my Dad, he'd be doing it like a serial killing, rather than as part of Adam's 'cleansing of the earth' thing. He didn't like to be seen for those, so I felt very clever when I called the police and told them where he was. He couldn't kill anyone if there were enough people around. Or wouldn't, I suppose, but it all came down to the same thing- my father would be safe. Both of them would.

So, why was I running though the freezing New York streets then? Maybe I needed to see him safe, really see him with my actual physical eyes. That was certainly a part of it. But another part, which I'm not all that proud of, wanted Sylar dead. Badly. And with the whole of the NYPD coming down on him (and really, would they send anything less after a super powered serial killer?) he would surely die.

I wanted to be there for that. Or at least arrive soon enough after the deed was done to be able to spit on his corpse.

Again, hindsight helps. I was so painfully _naïve_, it makes me cringe to think of it. How could I have _possibly _expected the NYPD to take a tip from someone who was _obviously_ a pubescent girl seriously?

They didn't come. Not until it was too late, anyway.

Dad didn't die, though. Thank _God_, he didn't die.

It was close, though. Way, way too close.

I arrive soon enough after the deed was done to see him being wheeled into an ambulance after a not-so friendly confrontation with Sylar.

Again. Not that I was in any sort of state of mind to appreciate the feeling of déjà vu.

It wasn't identical to Kirby Square; there was a whole bunch of people gathered around the area, my Dad's car was a bloody wreck (Sylar had flipped it into the side of a building, I later learned), it was broad daylight, and everyone knew who was responsible. The name Sylar was bouncing between people in the crowd like a ping-pong ball.

"Dad!" I shouted, vaulting over the police lines. Appa caught me before I could make it to the EMTs.

"Molly!" he said, pulling me into a hug that was as much for comfort as it was to keep me from running after them. "Molly, he's going to be alright. He's going to be fine."

I didn't have the words to express how much I knew he was lying, so I just hugged him back.

"What are you doing here?" Appa asked.

"Looking after you and Dad," I replied.

We stood there for a while, watching the ambulance driving away. But no sooner had it pushed out into traffic than it was replaced by a white vehicle bearing the letters FBI. A blond woman jumped out of the passenger's seat and began giving orders. Appa gave me a small squeeze.

"Molly," Appa asked. "Where's your coat? You're freezing."

"I left it in school," I mumbled.

"Why don't you run upstairs and get a sweatshirt or something?" he suggested. "I have a feeling they'll want our statements and I don't want you catching a cold."

"Yeah, okay," I agreed.

I began to walk up to the apartment.

I only stopped because the blonde woman- Agent Audrey Hanson, of course- reminded me of something.

"Take the names and get video feed of everyone in this crowd. Sylar likes to be around to see us work."

I snapped.

Eight year olds aren't supposed to hate people. Neither are twelve year olds. That doesn't change the fact that my hatred for the man who had killed my parents, the man who had hurt my Dad, the man who kept trying to destroy my family, had been festering away for four years at this point.

"Excuse me," I whispered, ducking under the arm of an FBI agent. "I'll be right back. I just have to do something first."

No amount of Post-It Notes were going to cut it this time.

He looked a bit like a hobo; then again, he'd probably gotten the clothes off a hobo. He had a fedora pulled down low over his face, and his ratty trench coat was pulled tightly around him, the collar popped up.

"James Walker," he slurred when the agent asked his name.

Bastard.

I waited until the agent had ambled away, before I started speaking.

"In case it's escaped your notice," I began. His eyes snapped up to meet mine, and I took an instinctive half step back.

"You're Molly," he said, surprised.

"In case it's escaped your notice," I repeated. Dimly, I was aware of the fact that I was shaking. "I'm not bluffing. I'm watching you- I'm always watching you."

"Really?" he asked, amused.

"Really," I confirmed. "It doesn't matter where you go. It doesn't matter what you do. You can crawl back to your hideout on Fifth Avenue after this, surrounded by all those security cameras and super-powered cohorts, and I can still see you. I can still find you."

"Molly!"

That was Mohinder. He'd notice me- noticed who I was talking to.

"Interesting ability," Sylar said. "I'll put it on the list right after telepathy."

I barely heard him over the pounding of the blood in my ears; it muffled both his voice and Appa's shouting behind me, and before I knew what I was doing I had punched him in the gut- one of the Judo punches that, strictly speaking, I wasn't supposed to do outside of kata because they could break a person's rib, and that just doesn't fit with the whole 'gentle way' deal.

Unfortunately, I had only been taking Judo for a little more than a year, and I probably just ended up giving him a nice-sized bruise. It did make him double over gratifyingly, though.

"Stay away from my family, Sylar!" I hissed, just as Appa, followed closely by Agent Hanson, came up behind me.

"Sylar!" she shouted.

He took one look at her (or maybe just noticed the throngs of people who were trying to figure which one of us was that serial killer they had heard so much about) and ran away so fast he left an after image.

"Molly!" Appa said shrilly, "What did you- what on earth were you thinking?"

"I don't know," I said blankly. Everything seemed suppressed, but I could still hear the blood pounding in my ears. "But I'll let you know when I start again."


	10. Hospital Coffee

I got through the perfunctory FBI interview/statement-taking session (which more or less went "How did you recognize Sylar?" "I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me watching him murder my parents when I was eight. Bit difficult to forget." "…ah. Right." I'm paraphrasing, of course.) and to the hospital while still everything was still in a haze. It's weird, really, what very strong emotions do to us. Fear makes everything sharp, too loud and bright, and roots you to the spot. Happiness softens everything painful, enhances everything nice. Anger makes everything blur together in your periphery, makes every sound slightly muffled under the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears, creates a sort of fuzz over everything.

And, man, can you get jittery when you're angry. Pent up emotions do nothing to alleviate energy levels.

So, yeah, to review: anger=fuzz.

I was still in this fuzz the second time I met Noah Bennet.

I'm not too clear on what happened between Appa and Noah, except that it involved Appa needing Claire's blood to revive him in the end, and none of the parties involved were all too thrilled about that.

I'm also not too clear about what happened between him and his family. I know he helped them into hiding, and, thanks to my power, I knew that place to be in Arkansas, and I'd been talking to Claire via the Network for months at this point, and had gotten to know her well enough to be aware that she was currently living with one parent (mother) and a rather annoyingly antagonistic brother. No father. Not even any contact from father, except for the odd, unsigned postcard: "Glad you aren't here."

Whether his leaving was welcomed or not, well… it didn't seem polite to ask.

Needless to say, Noah looked kind of stressed this time around. I can't say I blame him- he spent all that time doing his best to try and protect his family, keep them safe, and now it turned out that to keep them safe he had to stay away from them.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call a really sucky situation.

I felt for him, I really did. Right up until the point where he opened his mouth.

"Dr. Suresh? The Company needs Molly back."

Like I was out on a loan. Sheesh, Noah, were you born that offensive or do you practice that in the mirror?

This, as you can imagine, did not go over well. Unfortunately, at that point Appa shoved me out of the room with orders to buy myself a semi-nutritious dinner from the vending machines while he and Mr. Bennet chatted.

My Appa doesn't chat. He lectures, stalls, teaches, snarks, hypothesizes, threatens, manipulates, complains, and teases, but he does _not_ chat.

But, I was jittery and needed things to do, so I did what he asked and went down to the vending machine and bought myself a couple of granola bars.

And ate them.

And threw away the wrappers.

And then bought a juice box, because I was thirsty.

And drank it.

And threw it away.

All in all, though, I had only managed to kill about thirty minutes. Not nearly enough time for a 'chat' with Noah to be finished.

I dallied around the hallway until the nurses started asking me where I was supposed to be, then made my way back into Dad's hospital room. Where, of course, Noah and Appa were still in the process of threatening each other, which stopped abruptly after I walked into the room.

"Hi," I said, awkwardly, wondering vaguely if I should go back to the vending machines, and if so, if Starbursts would count as a semi-nutritious food because they had real fruit juice in them somewhere.

"Hello," Noah answered. Appa shot him a look, which he ignored. "I'm Mr. Bennet.'

"I remember," I replied. "You tried to kill me when I was eight."

Noah's unassuming smile froze on his face, a move that gave me an idea.

"Molly Walker-Parkman-Suresh," I said, sticking out my hand. He took it automatically. "But you can just call me the Walker Tracking System."

He dropped my hand immediately.

"Molly!" Appa admonished.

"What?" I said defensively. "If I go back to the Company, that's what I'll be, right?"

"Well," Noah began, but stopped.

"She has a point," Appa said. "The reason you wanted to kill her that night was to keep her out of Company hands, so that she couldn't find your family. Have things really changed all that much?"

"They probably still want Claire, don't they," I put in. "They want everyone."

"Especially people with similar abilities to the ones currently harassing your Company," Appa added.

"You work there too, Doc," Noah said. I blinked, a little thrown- this was the first I was hearing about any continued contact my family had with the Company.

"Occasionally. To keep my family safe," Appa replied, coming over to stand next to me.

"Notice how well that's worked out."

The two men glared at each other. The beeping of Dad's heart monitor seemed to speed up in the tense silence that followed.

"If you bring me back to the Company, I'll make sure the first thing I do is find Claire," I blurted out finally, because it was the only thing I could think of to say that seemed like it might dissuade Noah from kidnapping me.

Noah blanched. Appa probably did too, come to think of it, but I wasn't looking at him at the time.

"If the Company wants me to find Sylar or Adam, that's fine. I'd be more than happy to," I continued.

Noah looked over at Appa.

"She can do that from home. There's no need to take her away from her family," he said firmly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Just give me a phone number to call for when they change locations," I added.

"Do you know where they are now?" Noah asked.

"Adona, Arkansas," I answered.

"I meant Monroe, not my family," he clarified, grimacing.

"He has a Fifth Avenue Penthouse. Number 146."

"Now give her a number and get out," Appa ordered.

He did just that, leaving a very awkward silence behind him.

"There's pomegranate juice in the vending machine that isn't entire processed," I offered, after a time.

"No, thank you," Appa replied, sparing a look at Dad, who was beginning to shuffle around like he always did before waking up.

That was the last time we would see Noah for a while. But it was far from the last time I would work with him.

As it were.

Before I continue with that story, however, I would like to take moment right here to issue this health warning: Do not mess with Noah Bennet's family.

Ever.

Under any circumstances. No exceptions.

Why? Because that man makes my morally grey look like pure white.

And also? I like Claire. And Sandra. And can tolerate Lyle reasonably well. And even if I don't exactly like Noah, I respect him a lot. So you'd have to deal with me too.

You see, if you threaten Noah Bennett's family, you're kinda screwed for the rest of your (probably short) life. Pretty everyone who's done so has ended up dead, or memory wiped.

Except me.

Maybe it was because his Company needed me, and wouldn't take kindly to my being killed. That was certainly the case at first. Maybe Dad scared him. Maybe _Appa_ scared him.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my situation had so much in common with Claire's. Maybe he classified killing kids- even creepy semi-mature kids like I was- as a morally dark area rather than a morally grey one.

Maybe he just understood where I was coming from. I accepted a while ago that we are uncomfortably alike.

If I had to guess, though, I'd have to say it was because that was the last and only time I threatened his family. And I made it up to him later, because after he left the room I started feeling really guilty about it, and resolved to help the Bennet family however I could.

I think it was about the time I managed to warn them of an impending Company attack (Elle had been dropping hints for weeks about that being her upcoming assignment but, of course, I only got it after she'd already left) that I actually redeemed myself to him (meaning I was no longer on his hit list).

But we only started actively working together (that is, him lending his considerable expertise to the war effort once Adam decided to start fighting more openly) after this conversation, two years after we had last met face-to-face:

Me: Hey Mr. B!

Noah: Walker, do you have any idea where I am right now?

Me: Walk_manesh_. And, duh. It's me remember?

Noah: What is so important that you had to call me in the bathroom?

Me: Well, it is probably the only place where that isn't bugged out of all proportion…

Noah: I'm hanging up on you in ten seconds.

Me: I'm sure you're aware that Sylar found my family again.

Noah: I got the memo. Sorry to hear about Mohinder.

Me: Appa's tougher than he looks. He'll make it.

Noah: Look, Walker-

Me: The point is, sometime during the ensuing scuffle, I manifested a new ability.

Noah: You only have one ability.

Me: Then I discovered a new use for mine.

(beat)

Noah: Are you going to enlighten me?

(beat)

Noah: Walkmanesh?

Me: Sorry, Dad's just- well, moving on, at the end of the day, it turns out that I can lose people as easily as I can find them.

Noah: Mohinder was always mortal, as much as it-

Me: I mean I can hide people. So that no one, nothing, can find them.

(beat)

Me: You know what this means, Mr. B? I can hide your family.

(beat)

Me: Not now, I mean, but like, in a month or so. You could all live back in your own home in Odessa and no one would be the wiser!

Noah: Are you sure you can-

Me: Absolutely.

Noah: I'm just saying-

Me: Sylar looked right at me. Not through me, at me. And asked if I had seen a girl around my age, or possibly an Indian man run by this way. And when I said no, he just walked away, completely oblivious the fact that Appa was passed out on the floor in front of him.

Noah: And you've tested-

Me: Well, obviously Appa's in no shape to give me his normal battery of tests, but I've been hiding my Dad's glasses for the past few days.

Noah: I take it this was successful?

Me: Very. He's decided to get contacts when Appa wakes up.

Noah: Walkmanesh-

Me: And he will wake up.

(beat)

Noah: Wasn't going to say otherwise.

Me: I'll let you know when my powers are up to snuff.

Noah: You do that.

Me: Well, duh.

In case you were wondering, six weeks later, Appa woke up for more than a few minutes for the first time since being admitted. Doctors were astounded; they had been despairing of him ever waking up, let alone waking up lucid and with no discernable drop in IQ points.

A careful review of the logs would show that he'd been visited by a man and a young woman the night before, however; a pair that wasn't Dad and me. No one could remember anything solid about them, except that they looked and acted like father and daughter, and were probably Caucasian. Possibly Hispanic. Maybe even Japanese.

Nebulous racial identity aside, however, everyone agreed that they were no one who stood out.

Except for the fact that apparently, one of them could heal people. This was taken with a sort of 'so what?' attitude; people with extraordinary abilities had more or less been absorbed into American culture at that point, and the staff was more put out that they hadn't healed more people than anything else.

I didn't say anything; I can recognize a thank-you when it's given. Even if it was probably Claire's idea more than Noah's.

Although, I can't help but selfishly wish the Noah's gratefulness had extended to not somehow tracking me down here and trying to break and enter.

And I am so not buying the 'I just want to talk' line.

~*~

Author's Notes: Well, I always knew that Season Three would joss this. But I wasn't expecting it to joss the character's motivations. Since I'd written most of this before Volume Three aired, and had already started posting then as well, I feel as though I should warn you that woobie!Sylar won't be making an apperance. If you like, you can tack that down to this being a Molly POV story: her Boogeyman can't also be a woobie, after all.

Special thanks to Lara-Van, for being awesome. I'm glad people are enjoying this!


	11. The FBI

Long before any of that became an issue, however, there was the follow-up FBI interview, which was a long-dreaded and rather nerve wracking affair, for many and various reasons.

We as a country had just narrowly dodged the eugenics bullet, you see. There had been a rather scary period, just after the bank in Montana had been robbed and the existence of people with paranormal abilities had suddenly become irrefutable common knowledge, and, more than that, there was a bunch of them going around killing people, well, there was a panic, complete with an emergency address from the President and a crash on Wall Street. Our little family (plus the Dawsons, Micah, and Elle) missed the worst of it, because we were living in a very mobile home, but we saw the footage. There were a few extremists who took it upon themselves to butcher 'weird' families, some of which were probably just as human as they were, and of course they got the most media attention.

There was also the government- bills with names like the Evolve Human Reconnaissance Act, the Evolved Human Registry Act, and a whole host of other bills with the initials of EHRA limiting the movement, freedom, and even the reproductive organs of… cows.

I'm joking, of course, actually it was evolved humans, not cows, but after one particularly dense Senator used the words 'herding', 'branding' and 'bovine' in a rant about the dangers of evolved humans, everyone in the RV with powers started to call themselves some variation of cow. I was Moo-lly, Dad was Beefed… you get the idea.

By the way, that same Senator, a Stephen Clark by name, manifested his ability of induced radioactivity two weeks later, and nearly went nuclear at a press conference until another evolved human contained him. Needless to say this sorta killed the momentum of the anti-evolution movement. It is also, in case you were wondering, why when someone's power exhibit themselves in an embarrassing way is 'pulling a Clark' or, simply 'clarking'.

In the short time after that in which his movement was stalled, the pro-evolutionaries pounced, and instead of a whole bunch of stories about evolved humans who were serial killing fraks, there appeared stories about evolved humans who were heroes. There was that bus driver, Matt McLaughlin, who saved all the kids on his route by using his telekinetic powers to stop his out-of-control bus from plunging into a river. There was the Marine out in Afghanistan who used his powers of invisibility to foil an al-Queda plot to blow up the US Embassy in Saudi Arabia. A woman who asked not to be identified was systematically going around to every hospital in Texas, curing people of their ills. New analysis of historical data suggested that Benjamin Franklin had a power similar to Elle's.

And then there was St. Joan, who beat them all.

She had been presence in New Orleans, saving the world one person at a time, for a while and after the revelation that super-powered people existed speculation that she was one of 'them' quickly followed. The fact that she suddenly disappeared from Baton Rogue the very same day of the Starburst Bank robbery only added fuel to the fire.

It was only after the anti-evolutionary movement began to strike back that she resurfaced- in New York.

Yes, before you ask, I _am_ talking about Monica. After Niki died (or, at least, disappeared) Monica was really angry (something, which, as we all know, I can totally sympathize with). Her life was stuck in a rut. She had two young boys and a grandmother to care for. Management wasn't letting her join their higher-paying club. Gang members kept messing up her life. It was frustrating.

So, she took her destiny into her own hands and fought back as St. Joan, watchwoman of the impoverished. Everyone in the RV knew about it, of course; discounting the closeness, the only reading material available there was Micah's collection of _9th Wonders _comic books, which made St. Joan's identity fairly obvious if you actually know her in person. I'm fairly certain Dad and Appa took her aside and asked her to put her activities on hold while we were trying to be as inconspicuous as eight people traveling in a supersized RV could be.

I'm not sure what compelled her to start again. Maybe it was just her life veering out of control again; maybe, as her records suggest, Angela Petrelli had something to do with St. Joan's début on Broadway. That woman was certainly responsible for the new weapons she was sporting, a dagger and a crossbow. The only person alive who knows is Monica herself, and she isn't talking. Word spread throughout the working and middle classes of the city about the mysterious woman who fought off the common muggers and would-be gang bangers during the night, and she made headlines after she helped capture a man who'd been systematically holding up every 7 Eleven in the city.

Everyone knew she was a special, and, of course, the anti-evolutionaries tried to make her out as some sort of snitch or vigilante, or even a normal person with delusions of grandeur, but, really, it's more difficult than criminalize a person like St. Joan than Peter Parker made it out to be. People _loved_ her; a whole St. Joan fandom sprung up around her, complete with fan listings and a movie that was crap and totally untrue but still made millions in the box office.

And, besides, a lot more people had watched the X-Men movies and read the comics by that time, and were beginning to think that maybe alienating a group of people with superpowers wasn't the smartest idea anyone had ever had, let alone _right_.

Of course, that didn't really stop the sentiment as much as it stopped the legislation, but, whatever. I'll take my victories where I can get them.

There was, however, no guarantee that Agent Hanson would be sympathetic, no matter how much Dad assured us that And even if she was sympathetic back when Dad could still only read minds and she only half believed him, doesn't mean she'd be now, while on the case of America's Most Wanted Serial Killer and with the entire country breathing down her neck.

I know _I'd _be crabby if that were my job. Add into the fact that from what Dad had told me about her I had put together the fact that she was something of a bitch beforehand, and well…

I was nervous, because I was always nervous about making a good impression when meeting someone important who worked in law enforcement. Appa was worried because he was of the opinion that Dad wasn't quite up to snuff yet. Dad was worried about how the whole 'I can read/control minds' thing was going to work out, because although it was now considered polite to tell people that you were evolved (much the same way you're supposed to tell people that you are gay or Jewish or something) he had never actually gotten around to telling people about his abilities. So, you know, it was the whole coming out of the closet debacle all over again.

But really, it turned out to be less the fact that Dad had an ability that caused problems and more the fact that he were just himself.

Or maybe it was more Appa's fault. What was he doing, trying to think of a way to break it to Dad that I was working with Bennett right before the FBI took his statement?

He was in the room where the FBI was interviewing us for all of about ten minutes before I heard his voice in my head.

So, Molly, he started amicably. Mohinder's thinking some interesting things about you. This may or may not decide whether or not we'll have another _Law and Order _marathon ever again so think about it carefully before you answer: what exactly did you do while I was passed out?

Seeing no reason to lie, I answered I punched Sylar.

Big mistake. Big _freaking _mistake.

You what? he asked quietly.

I punched Sylar, I repeated, replaying the relevant memory for the stomach.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then the door to the interview room slammed open, and Dad stomped out looking livid.

"Matt, what-" Appa began.

"She punched Sylar! Our daughter walked up to a telekinetic psychopath and punched him in the stomach!"

I threatened him first, I thought sullenly. Dad picked up on it.

"Oh, well, if you threatened him first that's alright then!" he yelled.

"You what?" Appa asked, frowning severely.

"I threatened him," I repeated out loud. "Well, actually warned him off would probably be a better way of putting it-"

"What'd you threaten him with?"

That was Audrey.

"Don't answer that," Dad snapped, rubbing his forehead.

"Do you have an ability?" she pressed.

"It's not a very good one," I said, before Dad could interrupt me again. "Not offensively, at least. I'm clairvoyant, I can find people wherever they are."

"Including Sylar?"

"Ye-"

"No!" Dad shouted. "No, no, no and no. I know what you're thinking Audrey, and I know what you're thinking Molly, and the answer is no."

"But Dad-"

"I wouldn't let your daughter-"

Appa's cell phone rang.

"Excuse me," he muttered, facing away from the group. Dad frowned a little and turned back to me.

"Molly, we've been through this before-"

"Yes, we have. Actually, we've been having this same argument since I was nine. Sylar isn't the Nightmare Man, Dad, he can't see me back," Dad winced slightly; I plowed on. "He can't even tell when I'm looking at him, let alone trap me. There isn't any danger."

"Hold on for a moment," Appa muttered into his cell phone, before turning back to us.

"Molly," he sighed, disappointed. "It's _still_ dangerous. Sylar gains new powers almost everyday. He very nearly got one which could have trapped you not a fortnight ago."

"We've been through this before," Dad repeated. "We can keep you safe, Molly, without you needing to put yourself through this, I promise."

"You can promise to keep me safe all you want, Dad. Just like Appa can promise he won't ever have to leave again, and you both can promise that we'll always be together and nothing will tear into our family. You can mean it, and you can want it, but that doesn't change the fact that you can't keep it. They're _lies_ Dad. I can- if you'd just let me help, I could do something _real_."

I hadn't planned on saying quite that much. There was an unspoken agreement between my fathers and I- they shield me from the world as much as possible, and I act like they've succeeded- and I'd just broken it.

"Please," I added.

Dad looked over at Appa, who gave him an unreadable look before turning back to his cell phone.

"She's not going anywhere near wherever Sylar is," he managed finally. "Nowhere near at all. Like, so far away there isn't the slightest chance she could have any sort of physical, or even visual, contact with him."

"Can you track him from far away?" Audrey asked me.

"I can track him anywhere on the planet," I told her. "And possibly off it, but that's not really something I have any experience with."

"Then far, far away is just fine with me," Audrey agreed. "I assume at least one of you would like to stay with her while she does her thing?"

"Absolutely," Dad said. "Mohinder?"

Appa snapped his cell phone shut angrily. "We're going to have Company in about three minutes."

Dad and I froze.

"Who?" Audrey asked; we ignored her.

"That was a truly awful pun," I joked thinly.

"Your Dad is rubbing off on me," he replied dryly. "So what's the plan?"

"First, you give me the abbreviated version of who is going to be crashing into FBI headquarters," Audrey said. "Then…"

~*~

Five minutes later, Appa, Dad and I found ourselves being hustled into a Company-issued van, under the guise of being transferred to another agent higher up in the food chain than Audrey.

The piece of paper she'd slipped me as I had walked out of the room burned a hole in my pocket all the way to the Petrelli mansion.


	12. Tea and Dragons

Mrs. Petrelli's sitting room was tastefully decorated and furnished in such a manner as to throw its occupants slightly off-kilter and make them feel inadequate. Most of the chairs were slightly lower than normal, the lighting was harsh and sent long, angular shadows looming across the room. And, worst of all for Appa and I, the tea was a tepid Earl Grey.

Having Appa tell me via Dad why the room felt so off didn't take away its effects either; every move I made felt clumsy and every noise I uttered seemed far too loud.

"I trust the tea is fine?" Mrs. Petrelli asked.

"Of course," Appa replied with a thinly veiled grimace. Dad and I looked at each other, taking considerably less care to disguise ours; we were completely out of our depth here and we knew it.

I won't bore you with the details of Appa and Mrs. Petrelli's very polite pissing contest; suffice it to say that they don't really get along all that well, and she and Dad outright hate each other. At the end of the day, however, she has the whole of the Company behind her, and even under siege as it was from Adam Monroe's men, it was still more powerful than my family could have dreamed of becoming.

Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I should add her name to the list of people I can blame for my current predicament. Sylar, for being a murderer, myself, for thinking that I could go through the actions with becoming _that_ person, and Mrs. Petrelli, for pushing me towards those actions.

Except you shouldn't speak ill of the dead- they can't redeem themselves. And two years is more than enough time for Mrs. Petrelli's death to be real to me, unlike Sylar's, which only happened a week or so ago.

And, besides, I'm the one who killed him. If anyone has the right to trash talk him, it's me.

Getting back to the subject at hand, though, Mrs. Petrelli was to us like Hitler was to France; we were rather blitzkrieged. What this boiled down to was simple; they had intelligence that suggested that, because of Sylar's exposure, they were moving up their attack on the Company. To that night. Which, incidentally, was when the FBI was planning to move on Adam's place. The Company (meaning, Mrs. Petrelli) wasn't sure whether or not Adam actually knew that last bit of information, but she was going to bet that he did and either had something nasty planned or many more people in the city than she was aware of.

Which is why they needed my fathers; a mind reader would be instrumental to figuring out their plans, Appa's knowledge of evolved individuals was second only to Adam's, and the Company had this thing about working in pairs. And me? Well, I was, of course, welcome to stay here in the Petrelli mansion. Simon and Monty would be coming over soon, and they would keep me company. I could even invite some of my other friends if I wanted.

"One of us, one of them. That's the way it works," she said, when Dad and Appa protested that at least one of them should stay with me. "And do you really think there is a place on Earth safer than this house right now? We've moved all of our most important equipment and information out of our normal headquarters here, and there are several of our most powerful agents, in addition to our normal security. She's better off here than anywhere else."

And, of course, those same security measure could be used just as effectively to force my parents to comply with Mrs. Petrelli's demands, and makes my visit there rather unpleasant. They didn't have a choice really, and so we soon found ourselves saying goodbye in the foyer.

**Look,** Dad thought to me, as we hugged. **I know you want to help, but don't do it here. Not now.**

**But, Dad, we promised Audrey-**

**We did nothing of the kind. Not about tonight, anyway, He let out a small sigh. It's got nothing to do with you, it's just- Mrs. Petrelli is kind of a bad guy. Girl.** He pulled a face.

**Person?** I suggested.

**Yeah- point is she won't have an qualms about trying to get you to use your powers for her own twisted agenda, but if you don't give her a reason to lust after them you'll be much better off.**

**But-**

**Don't take it from me, ask Nathan next time he's over. She's evil!**

I thought about it; a night spent playing the Wii with Simon, Monty, and possibly Micah. Eating microwave popcorn and rigging the pay-per-view to give us something R rated, like Independence Day. Chasing each other around with those plastic lightsaber things Monty has coming out the wazoo. Having fun while my parents were in mortal peril.

**Okay, I won't do anything about Sylar tonight. I'm going to worry about you though. Incessantly,** I thought sullenly.

**Us too, Molly-doll.**

I was still thinking about trying to have a normal night when I hugged and kissed Appa goodbye, but I was already souring on the idea. As I watched them drive off into the twilight, my thoughts drifted to what they were going to do in a few short hours, what they were facing, and what was facing back at them. By the time I went back inside, I realized something; I'd just managed to lie to my Dad.

I had no intention of playing the Wii, or playing anything at all that night. There was no way in hell I was going to spend a second more than necessary doing anything that didn't involve taking down Adam's men. Of course, I wouldn't be able to do it directly, but I had contacts, actual contacts to work with. Granted, one of them was Bennet, and I wasn't entirely sure if Audrey had actually written down anything useful like her phone number on the piece of paper she'd given me, but Elle would probably love the whole crazy idea that was forming in my mind, and I knew her cell phone number by heart. I was fairly sure I could convince them not to tell my parents. I could do this on my own if I had to. I-

"Molly," Mrs. Petrelli called from the sitting room. "Don't you want to finish your tea?"

-had to look out for the Dragon Lady. Dad was right about one thing; she was evil. She'd eat me and my family alive if I let her. How did Appa deal with her again?

Politely, I reminded myself, as I stepped back into the sitting room. Be polite, and let her do most of the talking, and leave as soon as you can.

I sat back down in my seat, and sipped at my tea, which had gone stone cold at that point.

"You know," she said, in a much more sympathetic tone of voice than she'd used before. "I do feel bad about sending your parents into harm's way."

I didn't say anything, opting instead to send her a puzzled look over the rim of the tea cup.

"I understand why they're so worried about you. It's one of those parenting things, to worry about how your children would get along if you were to die on the job," she continued, as though not really speaking to me.

I thought about telling her that hers would probably be better off, but took another sip of tea instead.

"Although it's not quite the same thing is it," she said, looking directly at me for the first time during the conversation. "After all, you've survived losing your parents before."

I blinked, a little surprised and all the much more angry. Why would she even bring that up?

Then it hit me.

Mrs. Petrelli was trying to get me to help coordinate attacks- to use my ability to spy out the layout of the facility.

Or, you know, basically, what I had just decided I was going to do.

I couldn't help myself, the irony was overwhelming; I burst out laughing. This, needless to say, caused Mrs. Petrelli to look somewhat taken aback.

"I-sorry, I just-" I waved my hand dismissively. "God, I don't come off as that much of a- I don't even know what, but I'm not like that, seriously."

Mrs. Petrelli blinked, still unsure where I was going.

"I mean, really," I continued calming down. "Do you actually think I'm not going to do anything and everything I can to make sure they come out of this alive?"

Mrs. Petrelli raised an eyebrow, "You have a plan then?"

"Yes," I replied, adding to myself **It's a vague and somewhat haphazard one, but still…**

"Which is?"

"I'm not telling you," I balked. She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm twelve, Mrs. Petrelli, not stupid. Things you're involved in tend to turn into intra-Company political dramas." Or so Appa had always said, when he thought I wasn't listening. "Although I'm not naïve enough to think that you aren't going to monitor me, I am naïve enough to think that I can do it without you're active participation. Ergo, you don't need to know."

"So, you're going to stop Sylar all be yourself?" she asked, sounded torn between amusement and indignity.

"No. I don't think Sylar will die tonight. I'm just going to focus on trying to scout out the bad guys for the good guys. And, I suppose, you. And, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like Simon, Monty and Micah to help."

"You'll need to be able to contact people who are working on site. I doubt your parents would approve, so…"

"I'm kind of assuming that you've assigned Bennet and Elle to defending the Company," I replied. "Seeing as they're both there and putting on body armor, and all."

"And storming Adam's headquarters?"

"I have someone in the FBI," I answered, trying to sound like I was positive Audrey would follow my directions. Or even hear me out without immediately calling my Dad. Judging by the way her lip twitched, I wasn't entirely successful. I was suddenly struck by how absurd the situation was; here I was, Molly, pre-teen clairvoyant, trying to intimidate the Dragon Lady. "Don't you?"

"Of course," she said, in a way that was sophisticatedly patronizing, but still had that underlining feeling of 'duh' in it. "I assume that your plan includes said agents reporting the FBI's activities back to me."

"Originally, it hadn't. But I'm willing to work it in," I retorted.

"Good. Flexibility is important in these things," she rose regally, placing her now-empty teacup on the table. "I will be monitoring you. For curiosity's sake, more than anything else, I'll let you try it your way. But if things begin to deteriorate, I will step in. Clear?"

"Crystal," I replied, trying to rise with the same poise and almost tripping over my own feet; I had just entered my lanky phase, and all of my limbs seemed to be slightly longer than I recalled them being before.

"And Molly? A word of advice," she added. "Binding yourself to young men doesn't work out well. In any manner."

I tried to keep the disgusted look off my face, and may have almost succeeded. "Thank you?"

"You're quite welcome," she gestured to the door. I power-walked (because running would be undignified) out of it, almost colliding with Simon as he and Monty walked into the foyer.

~*~

Half an hour later found us gathered in a semicircle on the floor of Simon's room. His TV was turned to a local news station that was promising to report on 'a federal sting operation of the highest importance' as soon as the information became less classified. Micah hunched over his laptop, hacking into security cameras and whatnot. I was programming my cell phone with Audrey's number. Monty was off to the side, a little apart from the group, looking slightly uncomfortable. He was the only one in the room who hadn't manifested yet, although Appa had tested him for the genetic marker and found him to be a match. Most people don't manifest until their late twenties, sometimes even later, he had consoled him. The three of us were simply a little ahead of the curve, he had plenty of time to catch up. That didn't change the fact that he was the only kid in the room who didn't have superpowers.

Sometimes, I felt like taking him aside and telling him that having powers wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Even without the whole 'great responsibility' thing, sometimes your power turned out to be not all that cool. I mean, the word 'clairvoyant' sort of brought to mind some ugly old woman who was a telephone psychic. Not exactly something awesome, like being able to talk to machines, control people's minds, walk up walls, time travel, or shoot lightning bolts out of your fingers.

But I digress. He manifested later that night, anyway.

"You sure you don't want me to get rid of the bugs?" Micah whispered.

"I'm sure. The Dragon Lady will just come charging in here and take over that way," I replied, not bothering to keep my voice down. Next to me, Simon frowned.

"Don't look at me like that," I scoffed. "Your grandmother's evil, and you know it."

"She's not evil, she's just…morally grey," he protested half-heartedly.

I opened my mouth to retort, but Micah intervened. "Why don't we get started?"

"Right," I muttered, suddenly nervous. "Checklist?"

"I'm into both the FBI and the Company's security systems. Just let me know which group you're with, and I'll keep an eye on the other one."

"We have popcorn, soda, and about ten pounds of chocolate. We could survive the zombie apocalypse in here," Simon bragged.

"Micah still has to fiddle with your cell phone," Monty pointed out. I handed said device over to said technopath, who closed his eyes and concentrated.

"Okay, done. You should be able to have live rotating contact with anyone you call and anyone who calls you," he said, handing the phone back to me. "The setup is somewhat similar to Windows, only without the bugs. Sorry it's not a Mac."

"Thanks," I replied, not really getting the whole Mac/PC thing.

"So, what exactly are we doing here again?" Simon asked.

"Well, basically, we spy on the battle, and let the good guys know what's happening- what the layout is, which bad guys are around, what their supplies are like…"

"You know that cheat in Warcraft that lets you see the entire map? That's us," Micah clarified.

"Well, yeah, I gathered that that's what you two are doing," Simon said. "But what about the two of us?"

"We're the interns," Monty snorted. "They get hungry or tired, we bring them food and caffeine. And we keep an eye on what the paparazzi are saying about us."

"You could go play the Wii all night if you prefer," I retorted. Monty opened his mouth to argue, but Micah cut him off.

"You're the backup. Molly isn't used to astral projecting herself for hours at a time, and I've been known to sleep myself occasionally. One of us gets tired, one of you takes over either looking at the computer screens or talking to the grown-ups."

Simon seemed to take that version of the truth fairly well. Monty perked up slightly.

"Right, so," I said awkwardly. "Let's do it."

"Hey!" Simon protested.

"What?" I asked.

"We're just about to help the freakin' FBI foil a team of supervillians in their mad quest to take over the world-"

"Or, you know, destroy the Company," I interrupted him.

"- and you, O Fearless Leader," he continued, as though I hadn't said a word. "Want to begin with the words 'Let's do it'? Could you be a little less simple, please."

I rolled my eyes. "We're scouts, Si. Not SG-1."

Simon raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine: Let's think the unthinkable, let's do the undoable, let's prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all. Or so said Douglas Adams."

Simon grinned. "Now that's more like it."

"Okay then, _now_ let's do it!" I said, closing my eyes against his groans.

The first person I found was Audrey- who was, unfortunately for me, talking with my Dad at the time.

"_She wants to help people- there's nothing wrong with that." Audrey was saying. "She could be a hero, you know."_

"_Yeah, I know," Dad huffed bitterly. "I'd rather she just be a normal twelve-year-old kid though. Worry about her hair or boys, even, rather than the man her murdered her first parents."_

I snapped away from Audrey and moved onto Bennet.

"_Are you sure that's wise?" he was saying, to a dark-skinned man I didn't recognize._

"_We can't let these sorts of people take over the facility," the dark man replied ominously._

"_Which group are we talking about again?"_

Obviously, not a good time to intrude. I moved on to Elle.

_She was alone, leaning against a brick wall on the outside of Company headquarters, looking bored._

Perfect. I opened my eyes and reached for my cell phone, dialing her number and setting it on speakerphone.

"Hey Elle? It's Molly. How would you like another shot at Sylar tonight?"


	13. Things Fall Apart

Audrey's voice sounded very tinny over the phone. "Okay, we're good to go. Do you need to know our location for this or-"

"Nope, I'm halfway there already," I said, closing my eyes.

Astral projection is a very finicky thing. It's actually a bit like having control over two bodies at once- one of which you're blind, deaf, and otherwise senseless in unless you concentrate really, really hard, the

other in which you're incorporeal no matter what you do. To accomplish what I needed to accomplish, I had to be able to astral project myself to the FBI's temporary headquarters, and be able to speak to them over my cell phone using my physical body. I wasn't entirely sure I could do that. Not for a long period of time, anyway; the most I'd managed to date was a "Yes, Appa". And to do this properly, I'd likely need to be able to stay incorporeal for _hours_.

I concentrated on Audrey's location, and when I opened my eyes, she was right in front of me.

"Okay," I said concentrating on moving my physical lips. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't we?" muttered a guy with a purple tie. He took a bite out of his bagel, getting a smear of cream cheese on his cheek.

"You have something on your face," I said. He didn't respond. "Hello, am I not coming through? You in the purple tie, you have cream cheese all over your face."

He blinked, then wiped the smear off with a grin. "Huh, so she _can _do what she says she can do."

"No duh," I replied, rolling my eyes (a gesture, which, of course, no one could see). "So, just to recap, I'm walking around the enemy base, and telling you who and what to expect, right."

Bagel man mouthed 'enemy base?' to a nearby agent, who grinned back at him. Both Audrey and I ignored them.

"That's the plan," Audrey confirmed.

"Okay, I'll just get to it, then," I answered. "Try not to have too much fun while I'm gone."

"Cute," Bagel man muttered as I walked through the door and into the street.

Once more, I ignored him, "Okay, so I take it at least some of you are simply going in the front door?"

"That'd be right," Audrey replied, sounding distant now that I was simply listening to her voice over the cell phone back at the Petrelli mansion.

"Okay," I walked across the street and turned left. The place where Sylar was staying was three blocks away, just another high-priced apartment building surrounded by high-priced apartment buildings; actually, it might have even been slightly shabbier than the surrounding ones. The inside wasn't much different from what I imagine any other building in the area would have. I scoped out the stairs, the service entrances, and the fire escapes before making a pass through the area where the villains were actually living.

Then things changed.

There were guards, of course; that Fred guy, a burly red-haired man who kept idly setting fire to his hand and then putting it out again, and a woman called Darla Morgan, a telekinetic who was similarly juggling several balls with her mind. I made note of them to Audrey, then passed between them.

And almost walked into Sylar, who was chugging milk straight from the bottle.

"Could you not do that?" a man groused in an Australian accent from the couch. I didn't recognize him, but his ability soon became apparent as, when Sylar ignored him he glared at the milk bottle, with frothed a little and caused Sylar to do a spit take.

"It's disgusting," the man continued. Sylar raised an eyebrow, and the now spoiled milk flung itself off the floor and into the other man's face.

"You're disgusting," he replied. The man angrily wiped the milk off his face, and glared at Sylar, who's eyebrows promptly caught on fire. Sylar responded by pulling the man's leg out from under him, before using his freezing power to put out the flames.

The man picked himself off the floor, and was just about to glare at Sylar again when he was thrown against the wall.

"Don't bother getting up," he ordered before walking away. I followed him.

"Molly?" Audrey's voice came through.

"Still here," I replied, then, releasing that she couldn't hear my astral voice, repeated it.

"Anything interesting?" she asked. I watched as Sylar took an iPod out of his pocket, and turned it on.

"Yeah. New guy; Australian, long brown hair in a pony tail, seems to have heat vision or something. Just picked a fight with Sylar, got his-"

"Sylar?"

"Yes, Sylar," I confirmed. "He's currently listening to-" I checked the display. "Jennifer Lopez? Huh. I always kind of figured him for a punk sort of guy."

Audrey didn't seem to have a response to that, so I watched Sylar lean casually against the wall for a minute more.

"Anyone else?" she asked after a while.

"Dunno," I grunted, still looking at Sylar. He'd started beating out a complicated rhythm on the wall with his fingers. "Haven't checked yet."

"Well get moving," she ordered. "We haven't got all night."

I gave a noncommittal hum and turned around; then Adam Monroe flung open the door in front of me and stalked right through my incorporeal body.

"Whoa!" I yelped. "Six o'clock!"

"Huh?"

"Adam Monroe just walked right through me," I clarified, wheeling around. Adam was standing in front of Syar, waiting in the same impatiently patient way Appa sometimes did for the other man to acknowledge his presence. "Seems like he wants to pick a fight with the Boogeyman too."

"Boogeyman?"

"Sylar," I grunted back, grateful that no one could see me blushing. It's nice to know that no matter how serious the situation is, all your childhood issues can still crop up to put a cramp in your style.

Speaking of which… Sylar took an earbud out of his ear. "Something you wanted, Adam?"

"A word? In my office, if you don't mind," he said in a polite manner that was vaguely reminiscent of Mrs. Petrelli.

"Of course," Sylar replied sarcastically, beaming. "After you."

"They don't seem to get along," I observed, following the pair down the hallway.

"Really?" It was hard to tell whether she was being sarcastic or not, so I answered as though she wasn't.

"Yeah. That makes sense, I guess. The whole reason Sylar's Sylar is because he doesn't want to share power with anyone. Adam being in charge must _suck_ for him," I speculated, not bothering to disguise the glee in my voice.

Audrey said something I couldn't hear.

"What?" I asked.

"Are you following them?" she demanded.

"Yeah, of course I am," I replied. "Why?"

"Because they're likely to be discussing their plans for tonight. And because you're right- Sylar hates being under Adam's command. As far as we can figure, he's not even second in command. That's Reiko Kusanagi."

"The Japanese woman?" I asked. "Didn't know she had a name."

"Why wouldn't she have a name?" Audrey asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "There's this guy my father works with. They've known each other for _years_, but he's only referred to as the Haitian."

"That's…odd," Audrey said. "Are they talking yet?"

"Hold on a minute, they just entered an office," I said. Both men bypassed the desk in favor of walking towards the bookcase in the back. Adam casually pulled a dictionary off of one of the shelves, which swung open to reveal another, smaller room.

"Ooh, secret room," I remarked. "We're just hitting all the great villain clichés today, aren't we?"

"Can you tell me anything a bit more helpful?" Audrey snarked.

"Okay, we just left Adam's office, which is, after you enter his apartment, number 2087, past the kitchen, down the hall, and the last door on the left. There's a secret door hidden by a bookcase- I didn't see how that opened, sorry- and now they're talking, so I 'll let you know how that turns out."

Audrey didn't respond.

"-keep a low profile tonight," Adam was saying, smiling in a smooth politician way.

Sylar looked unfazed. "I don't see how that'll be possible, what with everything going on. We're making history tonight, Adam. There's not going to be a way to contain it."

"Yes, we are making history. And no, it won't be contained. Why do you think I leaked the news about the FBI to the press But you're not going to be with us, Sylar."

"You're going to need me to take care of the Company operatives."

"I've been dealing with the Company for longer than you've been alive," Adam scoffed. "Don't presume-"

"That you were actually locked up for longer than I've been alive?" Sylar questioned smugly, rocking back on his heels. Adam looked shocked, and Sylar's grin widened. "Petrelli and I had a very interesting conversation last time we met up."

"I'm sorry," Adam snapped, looking furious with himself. "Am I actually supposed to be impressed that you got information out of-"

"If we could move this along?" A soft voice queried from the corner of the room. The Japanese woman- Reiko Kusanagi, I guess, I never did find out if that was really her name- pushed herself off the wall, a strode to where the two men.

"Something you want to say dear?" Adam queried.

"Only to elaborate," she purred, before turning to Sylar. Immediately, all traces of affection melted off her face. "We want you fighting. We don't want you killing the operatives in your normal distinctive fashion.

"Excuse me?" Sylar asked incredulously. "And how exactly am I supposed to get more powers if I don't open their skulls?"

"You're not," Adam replied bluntly.

"What?" Sylar's voice had gone low and dangerous. He meant business now.

"Think of it as a test," she soothed insincerely. "The less trouble you cause, the more we know we can trust you. The more we know we can trust you, the more powers you'll be allowed to cull."

"And what makes you think I won't simply take your abilities?"

His voice was still gravely- I shivered. It was the voice I associated with being shoved into the closet, the voice he'd used as my vision blacked out and goo clogged my throat. It was the voice he used to inform you that your time was up, that he was getting his way one way or the other, and you could either get out of the way or get murdered.

Adam and his companion weren't nearly as impressed by this fact as I was.

"For the simple fact that if we didn't have something you needed, you would have tried already," Adam replies.

Sylar has no answer to that. I smiled, as their already tense three-way standoff becomes even more so. I walked around so that I was facing the Japanese woman.

"Now what do you have," I muttered. "That he wants, besides your powers?"

Her posture shifted so that her eyes met mine, a freaky coincidence, or so I though. Then she spoke.

"Like what you see, Molly?"

I snapped back into myself, collapsing as I did. I lay there for a moment, gasping for breath. In front of me, Micah turned around, startled. Audrey's voice came over the speakerphone.

"Molly? Molly!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I babbled, still drawing in great gulps of breath. "I- oh God. You're right. She's definitely higher up on the food chain than Sylar."

"Kusanagi?" she asked.

"Yeah," I answered, sitting up straighter. "Yeah, she- she just ordered him to not take anyone's power tonight. And," I let out a half-hysterical sort of giggle. "And she can see me."

"Fuck," Audrey cursed.

"Yeah, that's about what I was thinking," I replied. My heart rate slowly but surely returned back to normal, and I took one last fortifying breath before forcing myself to keep that steady as well. "But- I don't think she can trap me. She can just see me. I mean, if she could trap me, she would have done so, right?"

It seemed like pretty solid logic to me. But then again, I was twelve. Self-restraint wasn't a trait I'd ever encountered in a villain before.

"Molly-"

"I'm going back," I said decisively.

"Molly, no!" Audrey shouted.

"But I can-"

"No," she repeated.

"Why not?" I asked. "It's not like you can stop me. It's not like you couldn't use the intel."

There was a pause from the other end of the line. "I could disregard it."

"You wouldn't. You know it's accurate- it would be irresponsible not to use it," I argued.

"I'd tell your father."

Crap. That would be bad. "He'd be angrier at you."

"I don't live with him."

That was true. She didn't live with Dad- she didn't know, then, how far he'd be willing to go to make sure I was safe. I did- and it went far beyond the bout of brainwashing I knew he'd use if he thought I was putting myself in danger.

"Fine," I snarled. "Don't expect much in the way of cooperation from me later, though."

I hung up. Micah, Simon, and Monty were all staring at me, open mouthed. It would have been a fairly comic sight under different circumstances.

"I am so tired," I said, to no one in particular. "Of being told what I can and cannot do."

For a long moment no one said anything. Then Monty opened his mouth to speak- and promptly disappeared into thin air.

There was a long silence of a different sort, before all hell broke loose.

"Where the fuck-"

"How did he-"

"Hold on a second," I snapped. I closed my eyes, picturing Monty's face. I looked, and I looked...

He was nowhere.

"I can't find him," I said, a note of panic in my voice.

"What do you mean you can't find him?" Simon cried.

"I mean, I can't find him!" I repeated. "He's not dead, it's different than that, but... he's nowhere."

Simon opened his mouth, but was cut off by the computer beeping repeatedly. I turned to Micah, who was staring intently at the screen. "That's a proximity alert. It's started."

There was yet another silence.

"Okay," I said quietly. "We all know the plan-"

"The plan didn't include Monty suddenly disappearing!" Simon cried.

"The plan didn't really include Monty at all!" I pointed out. Micah crouched low over his laptop, trying valiantly to ignore the entire conversation. "And before you get all righteously indignant on me, what exactly am I supposed to do. _I can't find him_, Si. That would be the dead end of my abilities right there."

"We can't just-"

"Nothing is the only thing we can do. Unless you have a better suggestion?"

Simon glared at me. "Give me a minute to work on something."

"Right, you do that," I replied, closing my eyes again. "Let me know how it works out."

_--she flitted nervously back and forth in front of Noah, whose nervousness was present, if not quite as obvious._

_"Not long now..." Noah muttered. From far away, the sounds of screaming and gunfire began--_

I opened my eyes and, purposefully ignoring Simon, turned to Micah. "Are you hooked up to the Company's surveillance system?"

"I thought we were watching the FBI sting?" Micah asked.

"I have a feeling they aren't going to be making as many arrests as they thought they were," I said quietly.

_Fred set fire to young woman, who scream as her flesh charred and fell away from her bones. Darla jammed the gun of her companion before throwing him against the wall. Harris ran circles around five men, pushing them closer and closer together, creating a vacuum of air where they stood. Juan grinned down at an unidentifiable person, his face completely missing. The new guy glared at the door, which began to melt._

"Actually, I have a feeling the only thing they'll be doing tonight is getting their butts kicked."

_Audrey kicked at the door in frustration. The man with the purple tie loosened the said article. The agents milled about the room in varying states of distress and disgust, trapped in the penthouse. Outside, the news cameras rolled._

"It was a set up. The whole penthouse thing was a set up," I groaned. "They're hoping to wipe out a Company stronghold and humiliate the law enforcement at the same time."

Micah switched back to the cameras in the apartment building, and let out a small moan of despair. "Well, crap."

"Can you let them out?" Simon asked softly. I looked at him; he turned his eyes from me.

"Yeah, I think so," he replied, cradling the screen. Text opened in a small box towards the bottom of the screen, a scrolled by at impossibly fast speeds.

"Go as fast as you can," I said quietly, closing my eyes once more. "And tell them to go to Hartsdale. We're going to need their help."

_Appa fiddled with some massive contraption worriedly._

_"Mohinder, is this going to work?" Dad asked._

_"There's no reason it shouldn't. This form of the virus isn't airborne, but it's virulent enough that it should be able to be transmitted orally. As long as they have their mouths open..."_

_Appa turned around abruptly to face Dad, looking despondent. "You know, this all started because I wanted to prevent the spread of the Shanti virus."_

_Dad snorted. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I didn't exactly go around looking for opportunities to trap people in nightmares."_

_I let out a surprised gasp. Dad's eye focused on me, horrified. "Molly?"_

I snapped back into myself. I could still here Dad's voice echoing distantly in my head. **Molly, was that...** His voice faded.

"Molly, what-"

"Keep an eye on my fathers for me, will you?" I asked, in a strangled voice.

"I'm going to have to finish this up first," he grunted.

"Well, when you're done with that, then."

I let my eyes drift closed again.

_The screaming was louder now, closer. Elle had stopped pacing now, and was staring at the door, looking speculative._

_"What do you think'll happen now?" she asked._

_"They still have to go through the prisoners," Noah replied. "They're all here because they're dangerous. They've all been taken off their medication. Hopefully that'll cut down on their numbers a bit without cutting into ours."_

_He looked over to his right, and met the eyes of a young woman whose name I vaguely remembered as beginning with D- Debbie or Denise or something like that. They smiled at each other nervously._

I snapped back into my physical body, and picked up my cell phone. Elle's number appeared on the screen, the speakerphone icon following shortly afterwards.

"Now's not exactly a good time, small fry," Elle greeted me. I closed my eyes again, and concentrated on the room she and Noah were in.

"I noticed. I just thought you might be interested in knowing that they've completely abandoned their base. Not before trapping the freakin' FBI in it, but, well, the point is, they're coming here. All of them."

Elle relayed the message to Noah, who swore loudly in Russian before snatching the phone from her.

"Can you tell us which ones are headed our way?" he demanded.

"Sure just-"

The door outside their room swung open, and fog rolled into the room. Noah and Elle gagged. The cell phone clattered to the floor.

"Get out!" I screamed. I felt Noah's life blink out. "Get out now!"

"Molly!" Micah cried.

Elle's life extinguished, and I snapped back to the Petrelli mansion. I was unsurprised to find that my body was shaking when I returned to it.

"Molly!" Micah repeated. I focused on him, then on the screen behind him, which showed Sylar entering the room where my parents were.

"No," I whispered. Appa reached for the machine, but was flung back into the wall. He struggled against Sylar's hold as the serial killer advanced on Dad.

"No. No," I repeated, watching numbly as dad tried attack after mental attack, blood pouring out his nose from the effort. It was terrifying. It was horrifying. It was agonizing.

It was a nightmare.

The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think about voicing them, which, in hindsight, was probably a good thing.

"Nice try, Maury."

The Petrelli mansion melted away, and suddenly I was back in Dad's childhood home, clashing 70's decor and all. I was seated at the table, in front of a plate of pasta. Across from me was my grandfather.

~*~

You'll have to forgive the abrupt ending there. Peter Petrelli just teleported into my motel room; I'm going to need to deal with him first before I continue.


End file.
